


Cut Deep, Right Down To The Feeling

by While_we_breathe_we_shall_defend



Category: Only Lovers Left Alive (2013)
Genre: Adam & Ian Friendship, Adam cares too much, Adam is So Done, Adam is a bit of a snob, Adam is not good with feelings, Adam needs someone to take care of his melancholy ass, Adam please don't bite him, Adam pretends he doesn't care, Adam's (TM) Mournful Lamentations, Adam's Blood Highs are a little different, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artsy and Decadent AF, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Blood Drinking, Canon Compliant, Caretaking, Character Study, Cliffhangers, Craving what you hate, Cravings, Disdain, Driving a vintage Jag XJS with a futuristic self-built engine is a fucking metaphor in itsself, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hidden Talents, Humans referred to as "Zombies", Hyper-sensitivity, I Don't Even Know, Ian is such a cutie, Ignoring world problems and withholding solutions, Introversion, Literal Sleeping Together, Loneliness, M/M, Multi, Musicians, Non-Consensual Touching, Not Beta Read, Not taking action on your intuitions, Or Zombies, Platonic Cuddling, References to Depression, References to Drugs, References to historical figures, Sarcasm, Sassy, Self-Hatred, Self-Reflection, Situational Humiliation, Sleepy Boys, Social Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Touch-Starved, Useless Vampires, Wanted to tag Vampires but "useless vampires" was too great to miss, We Die Like Men, What Was I Thinking?, even to himself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24028501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/While_we_breathe_we_shall_defend/pseuds/While_we_breathe_we_shall_defend
Summary: What if drinking blood made a depressed, self-isolating, sassy vampire such as Adam so much more vulnerable than we got to see in the film? What if Ian found him in such a state?Needed a confused but doting Ian taking care of a vulnerable, hyper-emotional Adam - once you get past all his self-absorbed lamentations, that is (First expect the lamentations, then the cuteness-meter breaking).TW for depression and suicidal thoughts / thoughts on life and death. And a lot of scoffing. It's Adam.
Relationships: Adam & Ian (Only Lovers Left Alive), Adam/Eve (Only Lovers Left Alive), Adam/Eve/Ian (Only Lovers Left Alive)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is vaguely set during the events of the film but I switched it up a little (The phone call between Adam and Eve hasn't happened like it did in the film, so she isn't aware of how badly he's doing). Guess you could see it as a deleted scene I would have loved to see, that then goes canon-divergent as Ian's role is much different to the film. Takes place after Ian gets Adam the wooden bullet and (several weeks) after Adam's last visit to Dr. Watson. Eve may still appear in later chapters and we may return to a slightly skewed canon story. 
> 
> Had way too much fun with this and am now worried for my sanity. Also evil cliffhanger at the end of the first chapter. Don't say I didn't warn you. Hope you enjoy!

For Adam, tonight had starred a much-dreaded premiere. It was the first time his little visit to the hospital hadn’t gone as planned.

He was frustrated, but mostly… exhausted, actually. Also somewhat stressed about the fact that he was exhausted. He hated showing weakness, most especially, allowing the tell-tale signs of prolonged thirst to manifest.

Was it really too much to ask to find that man at his workplace?

_Apparently._

Well. He still had some supplies at home – lower than he preferred to keep, but it would be sufficient.

His eyes were downcast and squinty, the faintest gleam of burnished umber seeping into them, as he ripped off the hospital mask and started the engine of his vintage Jag XJS.

Damn. He’d really hoped to replenish his stock of the "good stuff". He could have a bit less than usual though, stretch it out even further, for safe measure. He'd manage.

Mulling over his failure on the drive back through Detroit’s abandoned urban jungle, Adam started nibbling anxiously at his lower lip.

Halfway home, he realized where he’d gone wrong. It was such a simple mistake. He hadn’t stopped to consider that zombies might have personal lives outside of the hospital. They didn’t generally live where they worked, not like he did.

Adam forgot things like that a lot, especially when tired or a bit peckish – _the things zombies did_ , and that he should do as well, so as to blend in better. Observations and imitations of their behaviors were essential to keep up marginally believable appearances… like knowing when the lab workers at the hospital would usually head home. How _witless_ he’d been. He needed to pay more attention to the zombies, but if he did, he had a tendency to fret about th- about what they were _doing_.

The sound of the self-made, electric engine instead of a V12 motor calmed the vampire a little as he pondered on his own stupidity. Humming gently, the Jag traversed the night plains of outer Detroit, taking its silent driver with it, two sensitive predators heading back to safety and solitude.

Adam felt rather fed up with himself. Nowadays, he managed to forget the most basic facts about zombies he really _shouldn’t._ For example, that zombies _slept_ for the most part of each night.

A decadent, snobbish part inside whispered: _They should know better, than to waste the night sleeping, when they could be creating masterpieces._

The rational part in him knew that most of the zombies did function better in the light of day, though. They could be rather useless at night. Traditionally speaking, the perfect time to prey upon them. Not that Adam had ever enjoyed preying upon them when he was younger. However, blood banks hadn't even been a concept in the middle ages - to the misfortune of all.

It wasn't easy to blend in. Adam had been unpleasantly reminded of how eccentric his wishes must have seemed when he had first come to an agreement with the zombie, Ian. He had made it abundantly clear to the young man with waves of pre-Raphaelite hair that only late-night visits were - _possibly_ \- alright. If Ian rang the doorbell first, and waited for Adam’s reaction.

He was “real lucky” Ian was a night owl then, the doe-eyed zombie had been quick to inform him. It had been an endearing conversation, actually - not that Adam would ever admit to that. Watching Ian striving hard to get him everything he needed as a musician, constantly looking up at him like he’d hung the moon, like he was an actual rock-star... had been different. He’d enjoyed it behind his solemn facade, even though it was also stressful and potentially life-threatening to be the center of anyone’s attention. It was nice to listen to someone gush enthusiastically about music and show reverence for the complexity of his own, though. And it _was_ consoling to get some sort of reflection - a reaction Adam could mull over and pluck apart in peace. He liked having something outside of himself to keep him company in the lonely void. 

It was important to have interactions with somebody who cared in a way that felt _authentic_. There wasn’t much authenticity left in the world, and more often than not, the vampire found himself clinging to those precious pe- _things_ like a drowning man.

Ian was impressionable and young, but he was also a surprisingly resourceful person. He brought him beautiful instruments from who-knew-where and kept managing to surprise a creature as old as himself. That was some feat. Although wordless and always tense around the human, Adam nevertheless felt himself longing for more of Ian's companionship. He enjoyed those sparks of authenticity that briefly lit up his solitary nights. Sometimes he wished he could trust himself to show his appreciation more than he did, use something other than resorting to money. Money was safe though. Friendship often wasn't. Also, although Adam desired company in a way, being in close vicinity to a living being could become overwhelming. He was fairly sure that he wouldn't let himself give in to his survival instincts, but it could be dangerous to test such a situation for too long or for nothing other than his own selfish wishes. Allowing himself companionship for more than a few minutes wasn't a good enough reason to potentially endanger Ian. 

Concerning his existence as a vampire, Ian couldn’t – and _shouldn’t_ – ever need to help him out. If the fates stayed kind, then the young man would never know about his needs in that respect. It was better that way, for both their sakes. Adam's vampiric thirst was a shameful secret. The weakness it caused him needed to be keep hidden. He repressed his thirst for long periods of time, tried ignoring the horrible, gut-wrenching hunger pains for as long as possible. His thirst was like a badly-behaved child that he tried - and failed - to keep locked in the cellar. Ian needed to be kept away from that part of him. 

For a zombie, Ian was alright. Adam liked him, but only showed it a roundabout way of someone who’d lost too many friends in the past and had subsequently withdrawn his more sociable traits. That he was an introvert and a vampire did not help his case with opening up to anyone either.

In all honestly, Adam was a complicated cat, and well aware of it. He hated leaving his abode, but he was also curious and longed for real connections. Not that he'd get that if he stayed at home. But then, leaving his home was such a drag most of the time. Most especially when he was in the middle of creating something.

Unfortunately for him– _no, fortunately, for what else did he have?_ \- he was always in the middle of creating something. 

He wasn’t exactly proud of how decadent and maudlin he could be when left to his own devices. Those negative traits had sort of snuck up on him over the centuries. And now, after several decades of dwelling alone, it was becoming hard for the vampire to keep a grip on that what counted as normality. 

Fuck, really. He should have known. If he had struck to the plan, gone in earlier… at the time he usually preferred, around 7 pm, Watson would have been there! Alas, he’d been composing another dirge at the time. The music flowing through his mind had been too fragile in all it's sad simplicity for him to risk any interruption. Any real musician would understand. Adam had felt compelled to stay, drowning in the tune and his creativity, damning himself to get it just right… and then, the clock down that one hallway he last visited several years hence had been striking nine…yes. 

Time. Yet another dictatorship Adam hated to bend to. Even as a vampire, he felt chained to it, sometimes, because he lived in a zombie world with zombie schedules. Even as a being able to live several lifespans of a zombie, if not tenthousand iterations more, he would never be free. Because of the thirst and his dependency on the zombies. 

He was such an _idiot_. Truly, it served him right that he’d failed to procure more of the blood. After all, what zombie would choose to work after 10 pm, unless maybe desperate with or driven to complete a current project? When he thought about it for long enough, Adam really couldn’t imagine Dr. Watson being either. The scientist hadn't shown any qualms about selling the pure “O Negativo” to him – not as long as Adam paid handsomely. Which he did, every time.

_Mongering for money, all of them. What had humanity come to?_

Not standing up for themselves or their beliefs. Not even trying to _facilitate_ their greatest ideas! Of course, Dr. Watson wouldn’t fight to keep the precious, _delicious_ research blood from hungry beasts such as himself, not as long as he could go home with another wad of cash.

Adam scoffed, anger rising above the melancholy for a moment. _Humans. Where they all zombies now? Did none of them care anymore?_

Light rain dusted the windshield like diamond specks. He let the drops run as they so liked, not needing to use the wipers with his night vision. The landscape appeared almost barren. He would be home soon. Which was good, as the vampire felt tiredness pull at him like a leaden weight. 

Watson had commented on the stethoscope last time. The scientist was starting to lose his inherent fear of him, was suddenly asking all these questions. Adam’s eyes pinched.

_Did the man have to do that?_

_Questions were stressful, if you had lived long enough to give several different answers and didn't care about which answer was vogue for the current generation._

They certainly were stressful to a depressed, intellectual vampire such as himself. He had a different feeling for the passage of time than humans, and dammit, but he was too tired and too broken-down to care about it much! Ugh, but he had to care, had to bend, didn't he?

Adam didn’t like to be forcibly reminded of the fact that everything about his life style was a trifle odd. Yes, he was no conformist and proud of it. He liked thinking out of the box. But, being a sensitive creature, it would be wrong to assume he needed a constant reminder of how badly he fit into the scheme of things. A square peg indeed. 

Maybe, Adam asked himself, he had encouraged these questions towards his person? After all, he could have chosen a better name than _Dr. Faust_. He could have put more effort into his dress-up. If he cared. If only he cared enough. He _should_ at the very least care enough to not want to be exposed for what he was, though. If only for the sake of Eve – _talented, beautiful, charming Eve_ \- wherever she was. Tangier, maybe, from what he’d last heard. 

His darling. The love of his life. 

Oh, Eve.

Adam knew he didn’t deserve her, ranged beneath her in so many aspects of his personality… but he desired her. He worshipped her. She was the light to his darkness, the evening star to his night.

When Adam finally put the car into park behind the house, he felt weary and weak. All his joints ached, and the feeling of mild dizziness didn't make his mood any better.

He closed his eyes, ignoring a wave of nausea. It helped to listen in to the howls of the coyotes and the wind cutting through dry grasses, but only a little. This awful thirst, bane of his existence. He resented having to leave the house for it, but he knew _the thirst_ would always win out on him eventually. No matter how hard Adam tried to starve himself off it, resist it, postpone it: The thirst was inevitable. Consuming that _disgusting_ fluid was the only thing keeping Adam from truly falling apart, from becoming but a quintessence of dust himself.

At some point, even a tortured creature like him had to drink. And so, it was necessary to keep up his visits to the hospital. He felt forced to keep a tentative connection to reality, to the zombies, although it pained him. Oh, if he could just be _free_ of the thirst and be left in peace! He loathed the necessity of drinking blood, abhorred what it did to him if he _did_ drink... and what it did to him if he _didn’t_. There wasn't any winning to this scenario, and there never would be. Adam resented the ordeal of going out, the blood, the contamination, the zombies, everything. 

His choices were limited between a rock and a hard place, at least that was how it felt. If he starved himself, stayed thirsty, he felt more in control, as paradox as that might sound. When he drank, he felt like he was losing himself. Then the vampire would fall into a trance-like state, become vulnerable and weak, clingy, and so _fucking emotional_ , before his body finally assimilated the blood. Adam hated and loved that state of mind equally, but mostly, he feared it. He didn't like going through that, especially not all alone. If he couldn’t hold his beloved Eve and curl up in her arms afterwards, he tried to postpone the drinking for as long as possible. 

Eve wasn't around to keep an eye on him. In consequence, all he wanted was to lose himself in the music and float away. Detach from his body. Giving in to sweet creation itself was the best distraction from the hurt. He craved bringing the vibes of his very soul into song, and continuing to do so, endlessly, until past the mysterious, final threshold. And then, the vampire was still prone to hope, a deep sleep would follow… or whatever came next for those such as him. What did death look like to a being such as him? Maybe simple non-existence? No thirst. No sleep. No loneliness. No punishments. Just blessed nothingness? 

_Sometimes, death was simply preferable to action or existence alike_ , as John Masefield had said. His old friend hadn’t been wrong. Adam desired the end, when the world became too overwhelming.

The concept of non-existence, an endless, warm _nothingness_ – it was a comfort to his mind. Naturally, there was probably something else entirely awaiting him in death. He wasn't a very lucky creature. He might _hope_ for non-existence, but hell might be more likely.

Adam hoped he wouldn’t have to meet any _more_ zombies if he went to hell. He’d be inept at helping them, and crowds scared him. If they didn’t listen in life, then they wouldn't after death. They didn’t _care_ how they destroyed each other and themselves, even the very mother that raised them!

Many moons back, Adam had functioned as a catalysator, a muse of sorts, fueling the creativity of those whose presence he'd sought out, then still a curious, bright-eyed creature. Schubert, for example, had hung on Adam's every word. His blood had been as beautiful as his music. He'd taken care to only drink from him once. Adam wasn't keen on hurting anyone, especially not those select few he actually liked. It didn't matter if they had freely offered.

He'd had many friendships then. His closest friends had all been talented, and often ahead of their time. They had been a constant source of inspiration to each other. But humanity had changed, and so had he, slowly, painfully, unwillingly. The vampire had given up trying to inspire them, those _zombies_ , to trust in in their own ideas. He’d given up on them in general, reduced from a charming and morbid musical genius to a broken thing consisting of bouts of melancholy and angry scoffing. Possibly this wasn’t a helpful coping mechanism. But fuck. He was just so _tired_ of loss.

Many of Adam’s good friends in the past – yes, when he hadn’t yet started to call humans “ _zombies”_ in his wrathful disappointment – had been either slandered, or humiliated, sometimes tortured for their troubles. Sometimes shot dead on the spot. And for what? Their wonderful, brilliant solutions to save their brethren - all trampled to dust by ignorance and jealously alike. Adam couldn't get over the injustice of it. 

_Bloody zombies._

Maybe the second bane to his existence, apart from his ghastly dependency on their blood.

It had been a long time since he’d last felt truly inspired by humanity. Now, Adam survived on weak tingles of happiness for humanity’s genius that ran through him when he caressed new instruments. He literally felt the music that had been spun on them before him, and the music that could still spring into existence if he should let his hands dance across their strings and keys. Music was his true life elixer, apart from his beautiful Eve of course. Blood was simply a means to an end, a way to prevent death. There was a difference. 

Adam sighed deeply as he entered the house. The front door made a click behind him. Squinting, he plucked off his leather gloves, letting them fall into their dish on the mantelpiece.

Home, as it was. A rickety house filled to the brim with all sorts of heritage and antiques, instruments, books, odds and ends. He hoarded beautiful things. Dark, timeless clothes, like the gown from the early 19th century, his favorite “loungewear”, as zombies would now call it. Everywhere, electric cables snaked, through dust over carpets, connecting his technological knick-knacks. Purple lamp shades cast muted glows. Adam preferred them.They didn't hurt his eyes. The red velvet sofa was where he liked to sit best. There he liked to think and compose, head languidly tilted back, fingers strumming against guitar strings, the music drawing him into his safe inner world. In Adam's bedroom, beyond the four-poster-bed covered with silken sheets, his most personal keepsakes watched over him: Framed drawings of his friends, all of them dead. 

Tiredly he blinked under his mane. It was so silent without Eve. He liked to have time alone, but sometimes he just felt lonely. 

He missed his wife, his love. Oh, so much. It was a tad frightening, how much his soul yearned for hers.

She brought brightness to places in his mind that had never seen more than a candle flame. Her energy and lust for life and beauty always managed to refresh his heart, even in its withered state. Adam was happy for her, even if they were currently apart, had been for years. He adored that she still loved life. If she was truly happy in Tangier, he wouldn’t ever ask her to come to Detroit. Yes, he wanted to see her, desperately in fact. He desired to bury his nose in her scent, to kiss her passionately like on their fourth (or was it the fifth?) wedding – but he didn’t want to make her choose something she did not really want. If Eve didn’t want America, Detroit, then that was her choice, and Adam respected it. They hadn't been married for centuries to not have established a few ground rules to keep their love strong.

Adam was protective of Eve, but tried hard not to be too clingy. The last thing he would _ever_ want would be for his wife to come to harm or feel discomfort. The thought alone was unbearable. It was important to let her roam freely and make her own choices. But if she _did_ choose to visit him in his quiet melancholy some day, what then? Bad enough for her to see him wallowing in self-pity at the bottom of the hourglass. _Like every 500 years._

If Eve should come to Detroit, he needed to keep his source open. Adam wouldn't let his beloved starve on his watch. So yes, all his stupid issues aside, it fucking _mattered_ to keep up supplies and appearances, if not necessarily for himself, then on the slim hope that Eve would want to visit him.

He’d have to… he didn’t know. Adam sighed, anxiety swirling anew in him. He didn’t _want_ to have a long conversation with Dr. Watson, didn't want any dealings with him at all, if he could help it. He didn't like those kind of thrills. Eve and him, they weren’t like some of The Others. They didn’t like conflict, or actively scaring people into submission. They didn't like to toy - like Ava. The hunger for power was not something Adam or Eve had ever known.

He was a musician, an inventor, and alright, fine, maybe his negative aura could be intimidating to some. He didn’t actually _desire_ to put fear in the doctor’s heart, though. Why should he want such a thing? However, if it was the only way to preserve the truth from spilling out, then Adam would do whatever became necessary… he _supposed_. He certainly would go pretty far if Eve were in any danger. Then no one would be safe.

Well. Something to mull over for another night - _oh joy -_ how to get Watson to _stop asking questions_. 

_Maybe buy a new stethoscope. If only the problem could be fixed so easily._

Adam was well aware of the fact that the main problem was him being himself.

Ian could get him a stethoscope, if he could think of any reason why he’d need one… another art project? It wasn't relevant how eccentric the request would made him look – he didn’t want to cause any suspicions, that was all. Like the wooden bullet, for example. To even _ask_ that of a zombie had been nerve-wracking. But Ian had taken it in stride. Maybe he should just go ahead and ask Ian for a stethoscope next time.

Incidentally, had it really been _that_ long since the late sixties?

_Surely not. What year was it again?_

_Hmm._

Possibly the most frustrating part of his failure was that he was going to have to do the whole charade _all over again_ within the next days. He would have to leave the house _again_ , and so soon. Such a drag. Anyone would get depressed.

Adam felt increasingly nauseous and dizzy as he stalked up the stairway, hand wrapping around the banister to keep steady. Grimly, he observed the dim lamps flickering in his line of vision.

He was a bit peckish, that was… _no_.

That was _not_ all. He was _starving_. Had been starving himself.

_Didn’t matter, though, did it? He didn't want to drink! He hated being so thirsty, but drinking was even worse!!_

His knees were weak, gait very much off-center as he turned down the hallway and drifted into the master bedroom. He felt like a husk of a man.

He wasn’t starving himself. Adam sighed. _Well..._ not _intentionally_ , at least. Not _consciously_...that wasn’t… the point. No, it was more like he simply hadn't thought he could _bear_ _to feel that way_ over the last few weeks. He'd been postponing again. _Procrastinating_. Fuck, did it matter? 

Drinking felt… _wrong_. Digesting blood felt worse and… oh, but _so good_...

No, not _good_. It felt _awful_. _Wrong_. 

What happened to his mind and body during and after swallowing down that elixir made him all the more disgusted with himself. Eve didn’t react quite as strongly as he did – never had done - whether it was because she was older than him, or because she took better care of herself, he didn’t know. He'd always hated how extreme his own reactions were, and studiously ignored the fact that he only made everything worse by procrastinating the hell out of his thirst.

Once in his chambers, the vampire shrugged out of his jacket that he wore over the hospital scrubs. Slowly, he pulled off the rest of his clothes, haphazardly throwing them over a chair. Adam ran a hand through his mane and turned to stare at the black sheets covering the bed. He couldn't prevent the mournful sigh. 

Damn, he was so _tired_. Maybe he could try and forego the whole procedure for another night… _postpone it again_ … go to bed _now_ , even though the sun wouldn’t rise for several more hours.

Yes. He wanted to sleep.

Then he groaned, remembering. 

Ian was coming round tomorrow night. Probably. With the new instrument he’d mentioned… if it had worked out with that dealer. Adam didn’t know any details – didn’t care to. However, if Ian was going to appear tomorrow night, then he had no choice. He had to get it over with. Ian wouldn’t come in the house if he didn’t buzz him in… but. Oddly, Adam didn’t want to make Ian wonder why he hadn’t let him in, especially as they’d already arranged to meet…

_No more postponing, then._

Adam drew his gown around his body, nuzzling it for some self comfort. Fuck, but he really _didn't_ want to do this. He wanted to sleep... or non-exist. 

He slunk back down the hallway, cross with the whole situation and promptly stubbing his toe on the door frame like the exhausted fucking _idiot_ he knew he was.

Grumbling, he continued his walk of shame through his living room, turning a corner and entering a smaller room beyond. There was a safe there, and within it, in its own tiny fridge – pure O Negative. The best blood of all. Free of contaminants.

Due to his mishap, he didn’t have much left. For a moment, Adam debated with himself whether to have a normal portion or try and halve it. He was a bit worried his body might react strangely if he suddenly lowered the anyway tiny dose to half, but then, he did have the rest of night and the whole next day to get over the shock, should that be the outcome. If he took half a dose now, then he still had a full glass as a last reserve. 

Deciding on halving his portion, Adam poured it into the chalice he liked to use. The near-empty flask returned to the safe. He stared at the fridge in silence. Then Adam padded back to the living room and sat down on the sofa, chalice in hand. He eyed it sullenly for a moment. 

_It would be fine_ , he tried telling himself. 

No-one was around. He was safe to let his guard down, here, in his own fucking house. He had the rest of the night to get over it, and the next day.

_Stop being a coward. Get this nasty business over with._

Adam tipped back the glass, letting the minuscule amount of blood – less than one full mouthful – run into him. He swallowed thickly, disgusted with the act, teeth fretting at his lower lip again in his anxiety.

Then everything changed. Adam gasped, eyes widening under his lashes.

_Oh... that felt so...why did it have to feel so...?!_

Forgotten his hatred for blood.

Now all he could think about was its _delicious_ _taste_ on his tongue.

_He loved it, the taste of life running down his throat, singeing his nerve endings in heavenly fire…_

The first effects kicked in even as Adam let his head sink back, whole body boneless against the onslaught of bliss. A shrill, pleasant ringing filled his head, whitening out his senses. The room was spinning, but he didn't care, he didn't...! 

_He loved it - this soaring, fantastic feeling - LOVED IT!_

His mouth was lax as he panted at the ceiling, lips slowly stretching into a blissed-out smile. A brief pain told him his fangs were pushing out.

The vampire let his tongue lick over them, relishing their smoothness, the curve of bone, the elegance to each point. The sharpness. 

Helpless to what was happening to him, Adam gave a pained, almost pleasured groan.

Oh fuck, this was so _terribly wrong_. But also, so _right_.

He struggled with the overwhelming intensity to his senses as he went into his Blood High.

“uuuuhhhhhnnn…,” he gasped, body slipping sideways. The empty chalice fell from his hand to the carpet, rolling away under the coffee table littered with instruments and books.

Disjointedly, he felt himself come to rest sprawling on his back, staring at the room around him. Little did he know, but Adam’s eyes were full-on vampire now, natural color showing, the clouded grey gone. 

Whereas before everything had been wrapped in cotton wool, muted, dull, now everything was in _painfully_ stark relief… his heart, fluttering like a panicked bird in his chest… the light reflecting off his instruments showing a hundred different vibrant hues of ochre, more than he’d ever seen before… then, the feeling of the gown around his body… so intense, so _soft_ , he could feel every single stitch in the material caressing his skin.

Warmth flowed through his veins, as if his body was trying to jump-start itself into actual life again. His emotions were _all over the place_.

For the first time in weeks his body wasn’t screaming for blood anymore, and darn it, but the feeling of relief was so intense that Adam felt embarrassingly close to tears.

The near-constant ache in his bones was now replaced with a floaty, giddy sort of happiness. 

Everything felt _warm,_ so _alive_. Each and every nerve tingled with new information. The ringing in his ears faded in slow degrees, but the buzz in his body was only getting started.

He shuddered as he pulled up his feet and felt his soles brush over the velvet of the sofa.

Velvet felt so _soft_. It felt lovely against his skin… in his oddly agonizing state of bliss, Adam giggled into his hand, trying not to start sobbing as well. He was completely overstimulated by the simple touch, quite drunk on how incredibly _good_ everything felt.

If he had been able to see himself, he would have seen a man splayed out on his back, legs partially freed from the gown and curled beneath him. His face lay upturned, framed by dark, tangled hair. His features, relaxed in blissful rapture, seemed even more handsome than before. Parted lips huffed out small gasps of pleasure-pain. Fangs grazed against a trembling lower lip. Adam would have also seen his own eyes, hazy yet expressive, pupils insanely wide, pushing his vampire irises into the thinnest ring of glowing, reddish bronze. A hint of color dusted the vampire's usually pale cheeks and traveled down the column of his neck as he gasped.

A part inside huffed, annoyed. This was bad. The prolonged starvation in combination with a reduced dose hadn’t been a good idea. He was losing control, going even more crazy than usual. Adam could feel it happening. Beneath the giddiness, he felt a little spooked. 

Adam hoped he'd come down from his High quickly and fall into his semi-conscious cuddle phase - by then, the worst of that loopy, out-of-control feeling would be gone.

Really, he should have done this in the bedroom. Then he could have slept comfortably, afterwards. Now… well, probably he'd end up on the floor and wouldn’t find the strength to crawl there.

What kind of vampire couldn't even do the blood drinking right?

The kind who though it was _wrong_ to do so. 

_Idiot._

_If only Eve were here._

He wanted to curl against her, feel her fingers smooth down his back and thread through his hair. _Her lovely hands caressing. Grounding him. Calming the frightened beast inside..._

Alas... he was alone. The vampire gave the faintest whimper. No. He could deal with this. He needed to let go... give in to the warmth in his body, and all those traitorous emotions that needed to come out. It would be over quicker if he gave in. 

He knew he was making this into too much of an issue. It didn't have to be embarrassing if no one saw him. It didn't have to be frightening. This was his private business and he was safe here. Why couldn't he remember that? It wouldn't take forever, just because that was what it felt like.

Adam let his eyes fall to half-mast, trying to ignore the incessant, simply _infuriating_ urge to giggle. He was so exhausted, yet so, so awake, shaking with pleasure-pain.

And then, finally, he stopped fighting his High.

Giving in... was _wonderful._

Adam felt tears start to well. It wasn't possible to say from which emotion. He sighed, feeling the water start to trickle as he shut his eyes.

This was alright. He was alright. He was safe. 

Which is precisely when the doorbell rang.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian finds Adam. It's a bit of a roller-coaster from there. Naturally. 
> 
> ((All trigger warnings and tags still apply, especially references to depression, drugs, as well as suicidal tendencies and self hatred.))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the longer wait. Just glad I managed to get something out again.  
> Get ready for heart-wrenching Hurt/Comfort (or the prequel to actual comfort, don't know what to even call this) and incredibly long dialogues. We're not yet at the real fluff. But believe me, it's coming. After murdering my babies with feels I like to drown them in sugar. Apologies for the heartbreak. Please prepare yourselves.

After ringing the doorbell Ian made sure to skip back to the street. He wanted to be in time for his customary wave, before the lurking silhouette appeared in the upstairs window. However, no such silhouette did appear.

The window stayed empty, ‘cept for the dull glow behind heavy drapes. Apart from that one rectangle, the house was dark and dead. Much like the whole street, it was crumbling to pieces, painfully succumbing to the jaws of time.

Once again, Ian wondered how Adam had working electricity around here. He sure needed help with the plumbing, although strangely, Adam himself didn’t seem to find it much of a priority. 

Ian opened the trunk. Then he set down the instrument case containing his newest prize, throwing glances at the window, which continued to stay blank.

He assumed if the musician had any other visitors – _something he never seemed to have, or care to have_ – they’d have to go through this surveillance from afar, as well. Not to say that he wasn’t okay with Adam’s security issues. Cause, he was. Understandable that the guy didn’t want any avid fans stalking the premises, or something.

Some things didn't quite add up with Adam though. He noticeably hated discussing his professional life, his passions, people he might know, the sources of his inspiration to compose the music he did. Likewise, he’d never said how old he really was, or where he'd learnt to expertly play _every_ damn instrument known to man. Ian didn’t think he’d met anyone before with the scope of talent that Adam possessed, not in the active music industry, anyway. Music seemed to _permeate_ out of the man’s lean body - and, unbelievably, until a few years ago, no one had even _known_ about him! He’d appeared out of nowhere, like a ghost. That seemed like maybe the oddest non-fact about him. It would be interesting to know where the musician had spent the first thirty-five-or-so years of his life. Not that he seemed very inclined to tell anybody, ever.

What could drive a man like Adam to preferring decades of being a virtual nobody, when he could easily have had fame at an early age?

Sometimes it plain annoyed Ian that Adam obviously craved reactions on the one hand, but was so _unwilling_ to actively share his creations with the public on the other. He could have international acclaim for his music, certainly had the talent for it, yet he avoided all the necessary stepping stones. He sure was a mysterious type, full of painful contradictions. 

Okay, if the guy wanted to be a recluse in private. Wasn’t Ian’s business. However, the mere idea of doing a gig appalled him, and Ian just didn't understand that part. Even a hand-picked audience seemingly wasn’t good enough to sway Adam’s mind to finally take the stage, not even _once_. Who kept the whole of mankind at such a massively long arm’s length? Surely, Adam's aloofness and the way he faded away when confronted with social interactions would become a problem for his career, given time? At least, that’s what Ian would want to guess. He was from the music industry, after all.

After a while, Ian began to understand that part of the problem was Adam’s old-fashioned concept about fame, about how he thought things still _worked_.

Adam honestly didn’t seem to get that nowadays, you needed to give people _more_ than just good music to earn the money you maybe deserved. It might be unfair - _the production of excellence not deemed enough_ -, no, now you needed be someone, as well. Had to have some kind of _image_. But then, no one had said the music industry was _fair_. The truth was as simple as it was unwholesome: _No one was allowed to keep to themselves_ , live outside the box anymore. Adam, _of course_ , was the exception to the rule, the odd one out, the ultimate rebel. He was the untamed tiger in the wild, scars marring his pretty coat, unable and unwilling to bend to the restraints of modern life. But modern life was stalking him nevertheless.

People were getting more and more curious about Adam’s music. The wildest theories were starting to bloom in the dark. These people were getting pushy, _hungry_.

Ian understood this reality. It was something he kept trying to warn Adam about, so far without the desired effect. He wanted to help the musician receive the acclaim he deserved, give him those "reflections" he seemed to yearn for. Ian couldn’t help but feel a little protective towards the guy. Not that Adam appeared to really _need_ anyone, not in a classical sense, anyway. He did seem tensely shy about certain things happening outside his bubble of existence, though. In need of a messenger, an agent, someone handling the dealings with the frightful world - and if that hadn't become Ian's role here, he really wouldn't know. 

It hadn't taken long for Ian to become fascinated with Adam’s brilliance. He stared at the beauty of the man's impromptu performances when he welcomed a new instrument into the fold. It was hard to forget Adam kneeling in his own living room and fingering the strings of a lovely guitar with this exceptional gentleness, _letting his eyes fall shut and tilting back his head in rapture_ – no, not like _that_...

Anyway. Ian could only hope he’d be able to convince the recluse to give his fans something, a new piece of music or a detail about his life, _anythin_ g he would be willing to share, to keep them off his back for a while.

Ian leaned back against his BMW, suppressing a yawn. Midnight was only minutes away, and the wet chill of autumn was seeping into his tennis shoes. It was alright to wait though. If necessary, he’d stay up all night if Adam needed him to. He’d do a lot of things for Adam, if the man were to ask.

But yeah. Would be cool if he’d come to the window soon. Otherwise - Ian had the rising suspicion - he really should have brought himself along a warmer jacket. 

He tried to pass the time imagining the musician’s reactions. Sometimes, he’d glimpsed a hint of a smile playing around Adam’s lips, but never quite the real thing. Ian secretly celebrated those sparks of happiness in Adam’s micro expressions every time, as they were so rare, precious jewels amongst the coals. 

And then there was just this _intensity_ to everything Adam did. It was exciting to watch. And yeah, of course it was silly… but whenever Ian was able to lighten the guy’s mood it would give him thrills. He hoped to see the man do more one night, show more feelings than simply humming his appreciation or staring soulfully at the instrument. If Ian could ever get Adam to actually smile, to _grin_ , wide enough to show teeth, that would be like a whole string of Christmases.

Would be _awesome_ if _someone_ got to see the guy smile, at least.

When another quarter of an hour had ticked by, Ian began to feel restless. Adam hadn’t left him waiting like this before, not this long. It felt like new territory, and not in a good way. He wasn't sure how to deal with it. Nervously he checked his phone. He’d gotten the date right. Um. What now?

It didn’t feel right to simply leave. 

Not to be morbid, but the guy had enough gadgets and knick-knacks in his house to stage about ten different versions of _Final Destination_. He totally could have stumbled over those cables and broken his leg. Or fallen against one of the wooden cabinets and knocked himself out.

More likely, Adam was composing something and had forgotten the time.

_Then he’d be so pissed at himself, if he realized he’d kept Ian waiting._

In which case, he had better ring the doorbell again. Remind Adam he was here. Seemed legit. Right?

But…what if he was disturbing him? What if Adam simply couldn’t come to the window, because he was so caught up in his creations? It hadn’t happened to Ian yet, that Adam had ditched him because of him being sunken inside his own mind. It was always _possible_ though, with Adam. He was intense, most especially when wrapped in his creative process. Ian knew this. Ian really didn't want to disturb Adam when he was busy. 

Or... could he be sleeping? 

In both cases, he shouldn’t prod the bear any further. Right?

Ian considered for a moment. Would be a long shot with the sleeping. Adam had never tended towards normal meeting times as long as he'd known him. Instead, his preferences for Ian’s visits ranged between 11 pm at the earliest and 3 am at the very latest – night’s darkest hours.

Ian hadn’t trusted himself to ask why that was, exactly. Not after reading the “confidentiality agreement” which had adopted an ominous tone at that subject (“ _It is to be noted that visits or telephone calls during_ _any and all hours of the day are strictly forbidden and will result in immediate and final termination of aforementioned contract, as well as other, more serious repercussions for the breaking of oaths.”_).

The contract continued in this vein for a whole paragraph, and talked oaths like he’d sworn fealty, or whatever they called it in centuries past, to Adam. 

Some would call Adam crazy. But maybe he was just… eccentric.

He’d signed the agreement anyway, intrigued what kind of person would even use such a thing. 

It had amused him how Adam had looked him up and down with this scandalized expression when he’d cracked a joke that he was sure Adam would have wanted him to sign in blood. The musician had curled his lip in distaste. He’d guessed Adam hadn’t gotten the general reference in that statement, or he was queasy about bodily fluids.

Anyway, with the sleeping.

Adam was a big night owl, as had become overly apparent. He wouldn’t be sleeping… that would be unusual for him.

So, maybe he should wait here. Just a little longer. Adam really could be creating something. Surely he'd come to the window and wave him in any minute now.

Ian sighed and shifted his weight, looking up at the stars. He was uncomfortably aware of the cold seeping into him.

The musician wasn’t, like, an _asshole –_ he could _afford_ to be one, possibly, but he just _wasn’t_ , certainly not to Ian. Maybe he had something rough to his personality, yeah, but he was always real polite, and had this oddly endearing thing about insisting on paying Ian _way_ too much. Along with the refined British accent and those elegant mannerisms Adam tried so unsuccessfully to hide – not to forget the way he bit at his lower lip when he struck the very first chord on a new instrument - made Adam the polar opposite of an asshole. He was a cinnamon roll, sort of, when he wasn’t being damn fucking scary. 

Or making him wait in the middle of the night.

_He wouldn’t let you wait like this if he knew you were here. Just ring the damn doorbell._

No, he needed to give the guy more time. Patience is a virtue. He should apply that now. With Adam, that could be more true than for most other people. 

And so, Ian patiently waited yet another ten minutes in the cold, trying to decide what to do. And wondering. 

The night was so quiet out here, where no one else lived.

_Wilderness._

He felt as if those coyotes were watching him. Or a random axe murderer, maybe, who could say. It _was_ Michigan State, after all. People could be fucking scary, too.

That dull purple eye of the house seemed to be staring him down, telling him he didn’t belong. Well, he didn't. Ian was simply a visitor to the desolation, not an inhabitant. 

Sometimes Ian wondered why _Adam_ thought he belonged in this place. Because did he, really?

There was nothing here. Literally nothing.

Maybe it was that, what made it appealing to Adam: Feeling close to this… _nothingness_.

He imagined that the geniuses’ mind might be so vast, yet so dense, much like a black hole, that he needed to be surrounded by open space, lifeless plains in all directions, just to prevent himself from sucking the life out of the universe. Maybe surrounding himself with as much nothingness as possible kept Adam sane. Or, possibly, he was thinking too much about all the deep shit happening in the world, and suffering for it.

Actually, that seemed like something Adam would _totally_ do.

Well, damn. Ian just hoped the man wouldn’t go so off the deep end, develop suicidal tendencies or something. Thinking Adam might ever willingly want to hurt himself made Ian want to _hurl_. 

Yeah, well now he _had_ to check on him, didn’t he?

_Damn. Yeah, he did._

Ian carried the instrument case to the house, raising one hand to ring the doorbell again. Then he decided to knock, instead. He froze when he noticed that the sturdy front door wasn’t completely closed. It was leaning inwards by a crack. The security chain wasn't in place from the inside either. He hadn't noticed the door before, the bell being at the bottom of the short flight of stairs.

Okay. So, Adam's door was open, in the middle of the night. This was new, as well. The door was always closed, and usually locked or chained, or both. For it to be neither spoke volumes... something was very wrong. 

Slowly, he pushed the door open, peering into the hallway. Then he took a step into the house, feeling guilty for crossing the threshold to Adam’s sanctum. It felt wrong, entering without permission. 

Darkness. Silence. 

This wasn’t helping him feel calm, but he would work it out. He set down the instrument case and silently closed the front door.

“Hey… uh, sorry. It’s Ian, ” he called. He tried to sound apologetic but upbeat and hoped for the best. “Adam? Hey man, you home? Uh… can I come up?” he offered to the dark stairwell.

Nothing.

He turned on the lamp next to the door, noticing Adam’s gloves in the dish.

Okay. So, he was home.

God, he hoped he wasn’t making a huge mistake here.

“A-Adam?”

He flicked on the light switch of the stairwell. At first, he still heard nothing. Or so he thought.

Then, as he climbed the staircase, Ian heard strained breathing from somewhere on the top floor.

“Adam? Hey… is everything okay?” he called out again, louder this time.

A cry, followed by a loud thump, followed by curses. “ _Fu—_ ”

“ADAM??”

Unidentified mumbling.

This wasn’t _right_.

Like a spring, Ian started taking two stairs at a time.

“Shit, I’m coming!”

“ _…don’t!!”_ Adam’s voice snapped, whip-like. “Don’t come up!”

Ian had reached the top of the staircase. Several doors went off the landing to the right, but only one door was half-open, a faint swathe of light illuminating the worn carpet. Anxiously he peered around the door into the living room and music room.

Adam was curled in on himself, wedged into the narrow space between the velvet couch and the overflowing coffee table. He was hiding his face in the striped sleeve of his nightgown, his other hand cradling his head as if he’d hit it on something.

Also, he seemed to be shaking. Profusely.

“Adam?”

“ _F-fuck!!_ ” the musician hissed.

“Uh…,” Ian said, skidding to a stop in the doorway. He swallowed. Maybe this had been a mistake, but Adam seemed… quite ill. Ian watched as Adam curled up on himself more tightly, although it seemed hard for him to fully control his trembling limbs. Suppressed groans and pants drifted up from the dusty carpet.

“W-what’s– Jesus, man, are you _okay_??”

“ _Ian_ …,” Adam ground out. “What are you… d-doing here?”

“Uh, well we were due to meet up and-,”

“It’s Friday,” Adam rasped. “We were to meet _tomorrow_ , Ian.”

“No…,” Ian swallowed. “It’s Saturday, man.”

“ _Saturday?_ Are y-you sure?”

“Yeah…,”

Ian hitched his long hair back from his face. It was concerning, finding his sort-of-boss a trembling ball on the floor. He wasn’t sure what to do, but he felt he had to do something. Slowly, he stepped into the living room, feeling like Adam was glaring at him, somehow, although his face was still hidden behind his sleeve.

“Look, I’m… really sorry to barge in like this, but I was getting worried… you not answering the doorbell and everything… and then the front door was open…,”

The musician seemed to consider this explanation for several seconds, shaking in silence.

Then he groaned, somewhat frustratedly. “… right. Well. Thanks for stopping by, but now isn’t a g-good time, Ian… so… so if you could…,”

Wait, what? Did Adam expect him to leave when he’d seen the state he was in?

“—uh, but -,”

“I’m _fine_. _Go_ ,” Adam insisted from his position on the floor. 

Unconvinced, Ian stepped closer. “You don’t… you don’t _seem_ like you’re fine, man.”

“ _It’s nothing_ ,” the man groaned into his sleeve. “I’m… I’m _just… f-fucking tired_ …that’s all,”

His voice sounded strange to Ian’s ears. Reedy and emotional and kind of _breathless_. As if he was trying really hard not to cry. “Please don’t say anything. Don’t ask. _Forget this,_ and _go_ ,” the musician insisted.

Ian swallowed. “I mean, if - if you’re taking drugs, then I can deal with that… okay? Talk to me, man…,”

A harsh sound ripped out of Adam’s throat. Pure bitterness.

“…Ian?”

“Yeah?”

“I appreciate your concern… but you can’t _help_ ,” Adam sighed once, tersely. “It would h-help me the most if you would please _leave_.” 

Ian felt his resolve harden. He came closer to the shaking figure.

“Adam. Tell me what you’ve been taking.” Ian tried to sound calm, but he wasn’t sure it was working. He didn’t smell Weed. He’d have identified the harmless stuff. Here, he had no idea what was going on. “Is it Liquid Ecstasy? Meth? What the fuck have you taken?” he demanded to know. His heart felt tight.

_“…too many bloody zombies,”_ Adam snarled. Making no sense whatsoever to his only listener.

“… you’re really worrying me here,”

Adam buried his face deeper into the cloth of his gown. Like it was his security blanket. “Why can’t you just leave, _dammit!_ ” he groused. Then he gave another groan. “… fucking… _useless_ …,” he muttered, seemingly cursing more at himself then at Ian.

He sounded like he was in pain. Ian hated that it could be true, and that Adam was still trying to send him away.

“You’re clearly _not_ okay. Whatever it is that’s going on, spit it out and let me help you!”

“... I can’t…,” Adam muttered. Huffing, Ian stepped closer, and the man jerked as if stung. “Stay _back!_ ” he snapped.

He flinched away as Ian awkwardly knelt down next to the couch.

“ _P-please_ …,” Adam muttered. “ _Don’t_.”

“Look, how about I –, “, Ian began in a gentle tone.

“Fuck… _NO!_ ” Adam shouted, suddenly wild. “ _You don’t understand!_ Get out – _GET OUT!!_ ” he cried, ripping at his mane. 

“But I… can’t just leave you trembling on the floor like this!!” Ian shouted back.

Adam was panting and shivering.

“ _Ian…,_ ” he grated. “You can’t _stay here, with me_ -,”

“Whatever _the hell_ is going on… I’m staying. Okay?"

“NO… GO. _PLEASE!!_ ” The shaking figure cried.

“Yeah… _not happening_.” 

Adam groaned into the carpet. “Dammit, _Ian_ …,”

Ian had had about enough.

“We’re going in circles. Can I help you get back onto the couch, at least?”

He moved purposefully towards him.

“ _Please don’t_ , " Adam begged. His wheezing gasps travelled down his curving spine as he pressed himself further against the couch. Anything to get away. Both arms were wrapped around his head, as if he was trying to protect himself. “Don’t force me… _don’t_ _force me to -,”_

Ian’s heart cracked a little at his friend’s frazzled state.

“Hey, no one is forcing you,” he soothed. “I just wanna make sure you’re okay. Then I’ll go.”

“… you’ll go?” There was something relieved in Adam’s tone, although Ian couldn’t fathom why.

“… yeah,” Ian said slowly, eyeing the shaking man. “…once I’ve checked you’re okay.”

“I’m fine… don’t _need_ …,” Adam gasped. “ _I SAID_ _GET OUT!!”_ he cried.

He was trying to sound menacing, probably, but it sounded mostly panicked to Ian’s ears.

The younger man took a breath. “Let’s get you on the couch for starters, hmm?”

“ _Don’t you dare fucking t_ -,” Adam threatened.

But by then, Ian had already wrapped his arms unceremoniously around his middle and half-hauled him up onto the couch. Adam gave a horrified yelp as he felt Ian touch him, even through the fabric of his gown. 

“Adam, what _the heck_? Shhhh… it’s okay. _It’s okay!!_ I’m not going to hurt you!”

The musician thrashed weakly, trying to escape. A moan escaped him as Ian’s arm wrapped more firmly around his waist.

“ _Augh…!!_ ” he cried.

The man still had his arms thrown up, covering his face. He arched his throat back, wild hair tickling Ian’s chin. Damn, he sounded like he was hyperventilating, pants coming hard and desperate.

“Hurt… _ME!_ ” Adam exclaimed in his arms, hysterical. “Ha ha! Haa _Haa haaA!!_ “

Those harsh giggles _hurt_. Ian kept his arms around Adam’s thin frame, hugging him from behind where he’d dragged both of them onto the couch.

He felt scared, just a little, because there’d been something… _dark_ _and scared and sharp_ beyond those giggles.

_Razor blades._

“… _please_ …,” Adam begged again, after taking a moment to get a grip on his horrible laughter. He was still attempting to shrink away from his touch, twisting in his hold. “ _Please g-go! Before it’s too late_ …p-please, Ian, _please_.”

“Shhh. You need to _calm down_. Everything’s gonna be fine. You’re okay, man!”

Ian was convinced it had to be drugs at this point. This just wasn’t remotely normal behavior. Especially for someone usually as controlled in his emotions as Adam. For Adam, this was… damn, this was fucking _out of control_.

Adam stopped his thrashing, those ghastly mirthless giggles turning into miserable hiccup-y sounds. Still the man was holding his head, face hidden, fingers curling and clawing in his wild hair as if possessed.

“It’s not _real_ , whatever you’re seeing or experiencing. You need to trust me,” Ian promised, starting to rock them both.

This earned him the most sarcastic groan in history. Truly, it was remarkable how well this Adam could vocalize his feelings in this state. Ian watched in fascination as Adam’s pale toes dug into the velvet of the couch, as if instinctively trying to hold on to something solid. As if he wanted to scramble away, along the wall, defying gravity.

“Just breathe. It will get better,” Ian whispered. “Try and concentrate on what you’re body can feel… not what you’re mind’s making you see, okay?”

This wasn’t the first trip gone wrong he’d seen. But this was different. It felt… _different_ to any highs or lows he’d seen on others.

He just hoped he wasn’t lying, about the part with the “getting better”.

Adam’s lean body was shuddering against him, and the whole development was seriously freaking him out. But the last thing he wanted to do was show how out of his depth he felt in this moment, clutching his most elusive and probably most fascinating client against his chest while said client was throwing some kind of fit.

“ _Release me_ …,” Adam groaned.

“Not going to. Don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Adam bit out another horrible laugh, filled to the brim with this awful, _scalding_ bitterness.

“You haven’t… ha _ha haaAAA!_ … _the slightest idea_ what you’re _d-doing_ …,” 

Ian’s heart sank. It was possible. He hadn’t exactly come here expecting a medical emergency, after all. 

“… maybe you’re right. Shall I call an ambulance?” he said, still trying to keep his voice even.

“Wh-? _N-NOOO!!!_ ” Adam hissed.

“Okay, _okay._ Sorry, bad idea. Really bad idea.”

“… _no more bloody z-zombies in my house_ …,” the musician muttered darkly. His breaths were wheezy and uneven as he tried to regain some control over… whatever he was going through.

“S-Sorry. It will just be me, then…,” Ian promised. Rather lamely.

Shit... he didn’t know what to _do_. Maybe he should call an ambulance? How many minutes would one need to get here? They were pretty far out from civilization.

_Maybe Adam had planned to live in a place where no ambulance would manage to get to in time._

_Damn._

The musician seemed spent. He sagged a little into Ian, a bony, heaving mass of limbs beneath his gown. Ian registered a rather large wedge of pale thigh as Adam drew up his leg.

_God, was he naked under there??_

“… _I asked you to leave_ ,” Adam breathed. His tone was nothing other than numbly horrified, disbelieving. “Why didn’t you _l-leave_?”

Adam’s voice _broke_ on the last word. He heaved a sob.

“That’s all I asked…to be left _alone_.”

The musician sobbed again. “ _I’m going to have to -_ ,” he whispered. “ _But_ _I don’t want to do it_. _For Mercy’s sake, man… I beg thee… please leave!_ ,”

His speech pattern was changing… aging into something _older_.

“A-Adam…,”

God. Ian was so damn worried right now.

Carefully, he pried one of those pale arms away. “I need to take a look, okay?” he said, trying to explain. “Let me see if you’ve hurt yourself,”

The musician sniffed, letting Ian manhandle him. He seemed unable to do anything else, too tired to fight back any more. One trembling arm was still thrown across his eyes and face.

“ _Don’t look_ …,” he heaved out. “ _Please. Don’t make me. I beg thee…,_ ”

Shit, why did Adam sound so _fucking scared_? 

He lifted away the man’s other arm. Adam whimpered and tried to duck away his head, eyes firmly shut. Wet tracks glistened on his features. The man partially twisted his body in his grasp, half curling into the couch cushions, half into Ian’s side. He’d effectively wedged himself in between two objects again. Like before. 

“ _Please… don’t make me hurt you_ ,” he whispered, now barely audible.

It could have been “ _Please don’t hurt me”_ , in another life. The tone Adam was using was the same. 

Ian gently cupped Adam’s chin, trying to tilt his head to get a better look at him. Adam sobbed once.

“Shush…,” Ian said. He found himself stroking away the moisture from under one of Adam’s closed eyes, touching the tips of his lashes. 

“Not to be mean, but I don’t think you could, man…,” 

Adam gave a weary sort of sigh. His eyes opened a wedge. Then he looked up, straight into Ian’s face.

“ _You’re wrong_ ,” Adam murmured, but by then, time had stopped, and all coherent thought went flying straight out the window.

Because Adam’s eyes were _red_ beneath his lashes, and not just as in he’d been crying.

No. The darkest red imaginable. Almost entering the purple ranges.

His irises blazed in _otherworldly fucking_ _CRIMSON._

They stared at each other, two species that had never met before, lonely universes colliding and _splintering_ space-time. 

_Those aren’t contact lenses,_ Ian thought, strangely detached, then let his gaze fall down to Adam’s mouth.

_Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Don’t tell me…_

The musician was still panting and sniffling. Seeing where Ian was looking, the creature swallowed as if trying not to be sick. His eyes drooped, dark wine welling up.

“Oh, Ian,” he breathed out miserably. “You’re so _very wrong_ about me.”

Then his lips retracted from… and _oh god_ , but Adam actually had the damn _fang_ s as well.

What the fuck. _What the fuck._

A brief memory surfaced. And then another.

_You know Ian, for a zombie, you’re alright._

_Thanks…_

_What have you been taking?_

_Too many bloody zombies…_

Adam was tripping on… _oh god._ Why hadn’t he connected the dots before. Why had he been so dumb.

“ _I tried…_ ,” Adam murmered. “I told you to _go_ ,”

Even the tears were reddish, as if the creature that Ian was cradling mere inches from his neck wasn’t weeping normal tears, but a strange mix of blood and water. “Why couldn’t you have _left_ …,” he sobbed.

Ian couldn’t speak.

“Uh…,”

Adam gazed at him, distraught and ashamed and heartbroken all at the same time. Fat drops welled up in his beautifully alien eyes and slowly rolled down his face. It was a horrific, almost spiritual picture of anguish.

“Yes. _I am_ ,” he sniffled angrily.

Still, Ian seemed to need to say it. For some reason. For some _stupid_ , _ungodly reason_ , he had the urge to say it out loud. _To hear it being spoken, that awful, fantastical word._

“You’re a – a -,”

“ _Yes_ , Ian, I’m a vampire. _A real one_ ,” Adam snarked, as he continued to cry silent, bloody tears. “ _And a very, very tired one_ , too...,” A spark of anger ignited those glorious, monstrously _red_ eyes.

Oh. Shit.

Part of Ian wanted to let go, to move, put some distance between them. But his brain had frozen. He couldn’t move.

“ _Worst thing is…_ ,” the vampire muttered, and Ian could only stare at perfect fangs beneath those moving lips. “Now I’m going to have to _murder_ you. Damn you, for being so fucking… _loyal_ ,”

Adam’s voice was getting a sort of desperate ring to it, and that, more than anything else, made the hairs start to rise on Ian’s neck. 

“Are you happy now?” the creature rasped. His orbs flickered, a kaleidoscope of emotions. “Do you think you can still _help me – cure me of my ailments_?”

More tears tracked down his face as he laughed once, and cruelly. “ _Fucking hell_ …what were you _thinking_ , _stupid zombie kid!!_ ” he groaned.

“I… I… man I didn’t – I didn’t know!!” Ian stuttered.

“No, but you should have _listened,_ ” the vampire insisted. A shudder ran through him. “This is going to be… such a _nightmare...,”_ he breathed. Adam’s eyes fluttered shut for the merest second, then opened into a glare, baring his fangs at him. “Don’t you understand? I’m going to have to _kill_ you, and take care of your car…,” he whimpered. “… _and_ bury the body, or burn it, _and_ move my whole… f-f-fucking _house_ … if I can even find the fucking s _-strength_ …,”

The vampire’s red orbs lost focus for a moment as more tears slipped free. Ian watched them drip down his immaculate cheekbones, while Adam’s long-fingered hand twisted into the folds of his sweater. “I feel _sick,_ just thinking about it.”

He closed his eyes as if overcome by weariness. “ _Fuck_ …,” he groaned. “It’s all going to happen, _all over again_ …,”

Ian thought he sounded a little lost when he heard himself say “…kill me?”

“Yes. _Dammit,_ why couldn’t you h-have just _l-left!”_ Adam complained. His tears were starting to soak into Ian’s sweater.

Ian suddenly realized the vampire was a lot of things, but his body wasn’t cold in the least. Instead, Adam seemed to be a normal human temperature, although maybe too hot for him, judging by the fine perspiration gathering under his tangled hair. In any case, along with the trembling and crying, it was safe enough to say that the vampire wasn’t in the best state of mind.

Something else was wrong… apart from the fact that Adam was a blood-drinking fucking _vampire_ , of course.

_Apart from that, which had just nuked Ian’s idea of the real world. But yeah. Apart from the fact that Adam was a vampire, what else was wrong?_

_He’s just threatened to kill me, and I’m still holding the dude, rocking him. That sounds pretty wrong, to anyone still sane._

_It was definitely wrong. Wasn’t it?_

“Do you… really have to do all that stuff?” Ian heard himself say, and shit, why did he sound so _calm_? “I mean, it’s – it’s fine, you know?”

The vampire’s watery eyes glanced up at him in irritation.

“I didn’t take you for the type who wants to die,” he rasped.

“No… no, I’d…,” Ian swallowed. “I’d like to keep living,”

Adam just stared at him. Sorrowfully.

“I…,” God, this was _so hard._ “I meant, it’s fine that you’re a- a-,”

“… an abomination?” Adam offered archly, with a frail tug of the lips.

“… a _vampire_ ,” Ian corrected, hugely proud he’d finally managed to say the darn word. “It’s okay. Unexpected and kinda fucking… _weird_ , but… it’s _okay_ that you’re a vampire, Adam.”

Adam observed him, a slight frown forming. He did look… exhausted, now that Ian was really looking at him.

“Meaning what, exactly?” Adam questioned, blinking his hazy eyes at him. His nose was a bit red, and it looked like he was also drooling a little from his crying fit.

“Well, you don’t need to do any of those things…,” Ian said, pushing down the uncomfortable squirm in his stomach as he considered the possibility Adam had just drained some innocent bystander, and was currently high on their blood. “Right?”

“Oh, _don’t I_?” Adam whispered, tone suddenly cold. God, _his eyes_. That color was _hypnotic_. “You’re the one zombie who won’t sell me out? Who won’t _cage me_ when I get _weak?"_ he challenged, fangs glinting in the lamplight. "You believe you can overcome your damn _cowardly nature_ , and let live what you do not _understand_?”

“I… I can keep secrets,” Ian mumbled, trying not to take offense at Adam’s clear derision.

“Indeed…,” the vampire said, narrowing his eyes at him. 

Before he could blink, Adam surged against him. Ian felt a nose brushing across his ear, then the feel of chapped lips wandering past his chin and across his throat. Adam drew in a lungful of air through his nose. The young man felt the reverberations of a growl building in the throat of the other man. 

“So, you think you can keep a secret, little zombie?” Adam's tone was menacing and brittle.

“Y-yeah,” Ian whispered breathlessly, going stock still.

“You promise to never reveal what I am?” Adam growled. Quick as a snake, his hand grabbed the back of Ian’s neck, pulling him down and towards him. Ian stiffened further as he felt twin needlepoints of pain press against the side of his throat. It was starting to sink in, like those damn _fangs_ wanting to sink into his flesh: Adam was a supernatural creature. God, those teeth were so sharp. As the pressure on Ian's neck reached breaking point, the vampire growled again. “To _anyone_?”

Ian yelped. “ _Yes! Adam! I promise!_ ”

“ _SWEAR IT_ …,” Adam rasped, as if sheer force of will was all that was stopping him from biting down. “ _Your undying loyalty to me… you must swear it!!_ ”

“I – _I swear it_ … _!!_ ” Ian whined, feeling Adam’s hand tighten even further around his neck in his silent wrath. “I swear I won’t betray you… Adam, _please, you’re c-choking me!!_ ”

“ _On your own life and all those that you love, Ian?_ ”

Both men were shaking, but maybe not from the same emotion.

“ _Y-Yes._ ”

Fangs brushed close against his jugular, testing, then sort of hovered there again, poised right at the edge of painful.

“ _Say it again, mortal_ ,” Adam growled, chapped lips right up against his skin.

“I swear I won’t betray you, or hurt you, _e-ever!_ I won’t tell anyone what you are…! I swear it on my life and all those I love…,” Ian whimpered, damn well hating himself for the fear in his voice. “I’ll keep your secret, Adam… _please_ ,”

It was horrifying, feeling god-damn _fangs_ against his neck. The imminent threat of something sharp and unrelenting cutting him open was making Ian's heart do painful skips. Cold sweat dripped down his back. His thoughts were going mushy, and his breathing was becoming somewhat unstable.

 _He didn’t want to die. He had so much of his life still ahead of him. It was a realisation he'd almost never had with such burning clarity then right now in this very moment. He wanted to live!_

Yes, he was panicking. This creature wasn’t one of those strange, glitter-y vamps from a badly written romantic novel, after all. This was the real deal.

The fucking _scary_ , bad-ass, real deal.

_Whatever the rest of Adam's true nature looked like, Ian was pretty sure the guy had zero percent glitter in sunlight._

“Fuck…,” the vampire murmered into his neck. “Why… why do you have to smell so _nauseatingly mouthwatering_ …,” 

“ _A-Adam…,_ ” Ian pleaded, voice going wobbly when he swore, he felt a hint of tongue. “Please. Don’t do this…,” His head was swimming. He didn’t want to die. He really, really didn’t.

The vampire growled. “Your blood must be terribly poisoned, but you smell so... _succulent_ … _fuck_ … _why?_ ”

“ _Please_ …,” Ian begged, shutting his eyes tight. “I wanted to help… please don’t hurt me… _you said you didn’t want to do this_ ,”

At that, the vampire jerked back. The feeling of pressure on Ian’s neck vanished and a tense, brooding silence settled over the room. Ian shook like the terrified thing he was in the vampire's vise-like grip. Eventually, Adam's fingers loosened their hold. Ian let his head fall back against the backrest, still trembling. His mind was screaming at him to bolt from the room, but he couldn't seem to find the strength to do it. 

“No…,” the vampire finally broke the silence. Ian didn’t see the vampire rubbing a trembling hand across his mouth. “No, I don’t believe I do…,” 

Ian couldn’t open his eyes. He wanted to. But he just… he couldn't. Not yet. 

“Well…,” Adam continued, voice growing weak again. “N-nice to know I can control the need to _drain you_...,”

Uh yeah. That was fucking fortunate, Ian would agree. 

Adam sighed wearily. "You poor thing, choosing to stay." 

Ian barely stifled a whimper when he felt the creature settle it's head back against his shoulder. He could feel the vampire still against his body, a heavy weight draping over Ian's chest and legs. Ian still wasn't sure the danger had passed yet. He was half out of his mind he might anger the vampire again. He… just didn’t _know_. What did Adam want with him? Hadn't he said he needed to murder him...? 

“So... Ian… I think we should consider this a prolongation of the confidentiality agreement,” the vampire stated, with the barest hint of self-mockery. “If you’d be so kind to agree?”

“… right,” Ian managed, eyes screwed tightly shut. God, what was he saying? Was he agreeing? 

He suspected Adam was gazing at him. Ian felt the vampire lean his sweaty forehead against his chest. There was a strange feeling building inside. 

“Look... I apologize for… well, everything,” Adam spoke, after another uncomfortably long silence. “It speaks for you that you didn’t… want to leave me like that,” A terse sigh. “Still. This is such a drag,”

Minutes passed, neither man saying anything. 

Slowly, Ian dared to open his eyes and look down.

Adam had practically melted into his side. His upper torso rested against him. Adam's head had sunken down against Ian’s chest, while his long legs curved against the couch. He looked calmer. And very tired. His lashes were like drapes, shrouding part of his soul. 

“Were you frightened, little zombie?” Adam murmured, watching him. Dark tangles fell across his face.

“… uh, yeah. Kinda…,” Ian conceded, heart rate still pretty high.

Adam’s eyes turned gentle beneath his sooty lashes.

“You’re so very young,” he diagnosed.

Ian hesitantly made eye contact. Well honestly, what was he to say to that? He was Twenty-seven, thank you very much. Apart from his age, wouldn't anyone have been scared a little shitless? 

“If someone like me tells you to leave, I think, Ian… next time you’d better listen to them,” Adam bit out, not unkindly but not too friendly, either.

“Yeah,”

Adam licked his lips. His blinks were becoming sporadic, and the abnormal dilation of his pupils was worrying. Ian watched as the vampire closed his eyes with an exhausted air.

“I need to sleep,” Adam murmered, with finality.

Ian unconsciously licked his lips, too. “Yeah. Um. Okay.”

“Ian…,” Adam whispered, opening his crimson eyes again. He gazed at him for a moment, and Ian wasn't sure if he was staring at him or right into his very soul. There was something incredibly old and bittersweet in that look, a threadbare tapestry of hopes long discarded. 

“I promise you this, in return for your promise not to harm or betray me. _I will not harm you_. This is a truce. Do you understand?” he said, gently.

Ian attempted to nod. It was hard to say anything right now. He wasn’t quite sure what to think, either. He felt dizzy with adrenaline. Against his will, a soft sound escaped his lips.

Adam’s hand came up, but Ian cringed and pulled back, half-expecting something dangerous.

“ _Don’t_.” It was his turn to growl. 

Adam let his hand fall, looking vaguely unsettled. He drew in on himself. 

“… I’m truly sorry I frightened you,” he said, tone growing markedly more apologetic. “I had to make sure… that you wouldn’t…,”

“W-wouldn’t what?” Ian asked.

Adam looked up again, eyes sorrowful, and didn’t answer.

_You wouldn’t understand._

“I’m not that good with… humans... not any more,” the vampire murmered instead, gazing at him earnestly. "I'm a bit... out of the habit."

Ian watched as Adam nibbled against his lower lip, a rather human nervous tick. One of the vampire's sharp fangs nicked the flesh in the process, causing a few drops of blood to well.

Trying to hide the pout, the vampire rubbed at his mouth. “… _damn_ ,” he muttered. "Idiot." Ian was certain the vampire meant himself. Once again, he wondered about Adam's life and past experiences. 

Adam’s eyes sought his. The earnest look was sticking, maybe only slightly marred by the colour.

“Look, Ian. You… you can leave, if you want,” Adam said. With an odd sort of grace, the vampire licked his own blood off his hand.

Ian gave him an uneasy once-over, noticing the disgusted shudder as the vampire swallowed.

“I mean it. You won’t be harmed,” the vampire tried to reassure. “I’m sorry to what you’ve witnessed tonight. Go home and rest. Think about everything. We can talk tomorrow night…,”

Adam looked down. “…well. If you like.”

The vampire seemed so lonely. Sorrowful, and lonely. 

“I…,” Ian said. He tried to gather his thoughts.

_What the fuck just happened._

He’d wanted to check on a client… maybe even a sort-of-friend? Instead, he’d been threatened by a vampire. Twice. Adam was a motherfucking vampire. And Ian had had no back-up plan. He'd gone in blind, trusting, not thinking about himself for a minute. No one even knew where he was right now. He could have died, and probably, no one would have ever found his body. The thought pained him. And yet, the haunted look in the vampire's eyes made it fairly impossible to hate him. The sorrow bleeding out of him was so freaking painful, just as painful as Ian's very human fear of death. 

“Okay. Um. Yeah. I’m… I’m leaving, then, ” it burst out of Ian. 

Adam's anxious stare broke like a glass shattering against a relentlessly hard surface. It was but for a second, but Ian saw it. “Alright. Good idea,” he muttered, even giving an appreciative nod. Slowly he uncurled from his position to give the younger man some space.

“Please pull the door shut when you go. I’m afraid I can’t make it down the stairs,” the vampire added, frowning at his hands for a moment.

Ian stood up, rather stiffly, heart still racing, and smoothed down his sweater and jacket. “Okay,” he said.

He wasn’t looking at Adam, or he would have seen his bony shoulders sink as he stared at him, something darkly melancholy in his gaze.

“I-Ian…,” Adam’s voice was meek, and somehow even more british than before. “Um... I- I’m truly so—”

Ian cut him off. “Bye, Adam. We should look at that instrument some other day. I – I want to go home now.”

God, he needed to. He was desperate to get out. 

Adam nodded, ducking his head. Expecting punishment? “Quite,” he offered shortly. "Yes, I think tomorrow night would be a better time.” He hesitated for a moment. "Goodbye then, Ian...," he said, wringing his hands a bit.

“Yeah. Okay,” Ian mumbled. “B-bye.”

Ian felt bad when he walked out of the room without a backward glance and descended the stairs.

He didn't know how to deal with this. He had every right to be pissed. Although, he felt mostly confused… and jittery. Still. He hadn't wanted to look at Adam’s expression.

He needed to leave immediately, he thought.

Cause this was crazy. _Insane... impossible._

_What have I gotten into?_

Ian reached the bottom of the stairs.

... And stopped.

Adam had never told him what was wrong with him, exactly. He could hardly believe this was a normal reaction for vampires. Or was it? Was that how they became when they drank? 

Maybe he should go up again and ask?

 _Yeah, no. What the hell??_ No, _god,_ he should _leave!_

There was the door, right in front of him.

He should walk away. He _needed_ to walk away. Adam had insisted on him leaving. 

_Then why the fuck weren’t his feet cooperating, dammit…!_

_WHY._

_No, don’t. That's insane, man._

Ian turned and proceeded to climb the stairs again.

_He didn’t know why he was doing this!!!_

_Was he losing his mind?_

Something was holding him back from leaving that wretched creature up there from being alone.

It was the eyes. Something… about the _eyes._

_We’re talking about the incredibly tired, super volatile vampire dude, right?_ His mind supplied in a conversational tone, resigned to his body trudging up those stairs. _Are you trying to kill yourself?_

_No._

_Maybe._

_I hope not?_

Ian, at this point, honestly had no idea what he was doing.

_Adam, you ass. What are you doing to me?_

_I can’t leave._

The expression on Adam’s face told him everything.

“Ian…?” the vampire stammered out as he strode back in to the room, sounding small and utterly lost. "I thought...,"

He was a mess, mane wild and on end, wide crimson eyes staring. And it looked like he’d started crying again.

"You're wrong about me," Ian said. 

Adam stared. Hard. And sniffled. 

“Okay. Let’s get you into bed,” Ian stated. “You’re an Idiot, by the way,” he added. “No idea why I’m still here.. honestly, man. But I'm here.”

Silence.

Adam's smile was wan, and so very self-deprecating.

_That didn’t make it any less cute_ , Ian decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love this film so much, gah. It worries me. Badly. Anyway, hope you enjoyed. Let me know, if you like?  
> Kudos or comments are appreciated more than you will ever know. If you have the time, do spare me a reflection ;).
> 
> Song suggestions no one asked for:  
> Goo Goo Dolls - "Iris" (more Adam's theme)  
> Bastille - "Those Nights" (more Ian's theme)  
> Sam Fender - "Dead Boys" (situational theme)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :). If you enjoyed what you saw, just saying, a Kudo or a Comment is very much appreciated. 
> 
> Should you have been wondering what the hell this was... apologies. Couldn't stop myself. So struck with the characters and the decadent moodiness of "Only Lovers Left Alive" that it pains me.
> 
> Also, speaking as a person who suffers from a (rather severe) form of iron deficiency anemia plus vitamin D deficiency, combined with generally odd hyper-sensitivity to light, touch and sound, I may have tapped into strange things I have some experience with. However, obviously took these things to a whole new level for my dramatic, (low-key nefarious) , and definitely self-indulgent storytelling purposes. Do not claim this to be a correct depiction of any medical problem. It's just my creative way of dealing with it. Thanks. 
> 
> P.S.: Did I take Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Cut To The Feeling” as inspiration for my title? I did. Do odd stuff like that, when left to my own devices. Like Adam. Please send help.


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